


Sunshines are Falling

by sugarby



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Prompto, F/M, Gen, attempted self-harm, theoretical idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 10:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11378613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: It was ironically profound to be pointing his own gun at himself: everything he was, is, isn’t and never wanted to be. His hand shook with his gun that felt heavier under the inner-conflict from the temptation and hesitation to shoot. Looking in to the same eyes that were as blue and frightened and as lost and desperate for answers...how could he?





	Sunshines are Falling

**Author's Note:**

> _‘What if Prompto actually saw another clone in the snow and not an MT?’_ is basically the idea and this is set in the middle of the episode. I don't think this spoils much but I'd play/see watch the dlc first.
> 
> *Title formed from Prompto being our adorable, perky sunshine and the song 'Falling' by HAIM.

****Prompto lugs him along as he trudges onward through the snow, leaving behind _most_ of the torment and mess he found within that lab. Guns firing everywhere, MTs waiting in almost every direction, his heart rapidly palpitating in front of his _father_ and he swore he was going to die in that moment—die before he ever saw his friends again and could tell them the truth.

The sky is spotless and in it shines a small sun which Prompto can’t help shielding his eyes from with his free hand; it pushes through the gaps between his fingers to greet him still, like the rays are praising him for coming this far. It’s useless, he decides, and looks back because he hasn’t in awhile; every step away from the lab, away from his haunting past, he took facing forward and in denial. He knows entirely what he’s holding on to but still wants to believe if he doesn’t look then it’s not actually right there: another clone which he hadn’t gone looking for but found and couldn’t get rid of. It was ironically profound to be pointing his own gun at himself: everything he was, is, isn’t and never wanted to be. His hand shook with his gun that felt heavier under the inner-conflict from the temptation and hesitation to shoot. Looking in to the same eyes that were as blue and frightened and as lost and desperate for answers...how could he?

Prompto can’t bare to look at his spitting image anymore so he faces forward again and keeps tugging him along, “Keep up. I don’t wanna drag you around everywhere…” He feels like threatening to abandon him but it’ll mostly be a bluff; he can’t leave behind one more way for Nifleheim to try and hurt Noctis.

“Where...going?” The clone asks as best as he can manage. He hadn’t spoken a word since being found until now and it’s obviously because he doesn’t know how to properly. He hasn’t been raised like Prompto who’s been to school and met people from different parts of the world and found a hundred ways to say one thing.

“To meet up with Aranea again. Then home.”

“Aranea. Home. _Aranea? Home?_ ”

“Yeah. It’s, uh, the place where you live. Someplace you feel safe and hang up your coat, stick your crappy kid drawings on the fridge, eat dinner round a big table and feel loved.” Though he doesn’t know why exactly he’s bothering to describe a home in such a way to someone who’ll probably never hear the word again, he bases it off precious memories as they pour in to his mind. Prompto feels sick now: the kind that makes you want to clutch whatever family heirloom you have, the kind that makes you picture your friends and family and want to cry. _Homesick_. He sniffles, swallows back those tears and stays strong, “...B-But, uh, like I said, I’m going to see Aranea first before I go back home.”

“Home. Meet with...Aranea. Aranea? Home...with Aranea. _Wedlocked_?”

“Holy shit, _no_! I-I mean no offence to Aranea or anything! That’d just be... _really be something_ …” because he fantasizes, just for a bit, on how life married to such a woman would be. The perks and perfect moments and the intimacy. “B-But no, I’m too young! Well, Noct was all set to marry Lady Lunafreya actually…” he mumbles to himself. “That’s different! Look, Aranea probably has a ton of guys lining up to be with her anyway; all of them tough, buff and...and _Dr. Seuss_ fans, h-haha…”

“Guys lining up. Guys? _Men_. Men lining up.” The clone looks so frustrated, then so certain, "An _army_?!”

“No but close enough.”

“Where...is _home_?”

“Right, short version this time. Home is with the guys—with Noct and Iggy and Gladio.”

“Noct...Iggy...and Gladio?”

Prompto's steps to a safer place become slow, then eventually he stops altogether in the vast, never-ending snow. As if guilt hasn't been torturing him already, heavy dread wants to be the company that settles in. He asks himself _why_ and he asks himself _how could he be so careless_. 

"Noct..." the clone repeats the syllable and starts trying to _solve_ again. "Noct...is home? Noct is? Noct. Is. _Noctis_." His eyes flash red for only a second but that second is still too much for Prompto. "Noctis. Prince. Prince Of Lucis. Lucis. The enemy."

"No, _not anymore_!"

"Noctis. King Of Lucis. He is...the enemy. He's our enemy."

"Shut up! He's not, he's my friend!" Prompto flings his head in the direction he was previously going and spots the camp up ahead. At some point as they were travelling (and basic fundamentals to living were persistently questioned), it was thought to not exist anymore, to have been only a mirage sculpted by a man's desperation. Just a bit further, Prompto tells himself but doesn't half-believe it because he doesn't know when he'll get rid of the clone or if he ever can and will. For now, he snatches the hand of his clone and leads him with stronger, hastier steps.

"Friend? Noctis is... _friend_?"

“ _Best_ friend. Most important friend.”

"Not our enemy? Noctis is...friend? Important friend..." His clone faces downward at the snow under his dragging boots like it's more than fluffed, frozen water. "He is...important friend."

"Yeah." Prompto nods furiously. It's the one, solid thing that's true anymore. "Keep saying that and I won't have to point my gun at you again."

 

_. . . ._

 

Aranea walks in to the cave expecting to see one moping blond, not two, so she has every right to throw a questionable look their way. She's low-key freaked by their near-exact appearance, how their same amount of freckles are in the right places, how their eyes match in hue and prettiness, how they're both wearing a ridiculous hairstyle in the same shade. She's seen her share of oddities in her line of work that should make her immune to being surprised, shocked, and speechless, but still she calls this sight weird.

One of them is sitting cross-legged in front of the campfire, a trouble-face on as he warms himself, and one of them stands uncertainly as he looks around the cavern. The one sitting on the floor yanks the hand of the one standing and they tumble down from the force.

Aranea decides whichever one answers to her nickname for them is the moping one on a sad, little 'break' from his friends. "Hey, _Blondie_ , got something you'd like to show and tell or do I suddenly need glasses?"

"...I was cloned." says the one who was already sat on the floor.

"Like in a Sci-Fi?" Aranea hears bitter mumbling but can't decipher it. She leans in closer but still can't hear Prompto say to himself _'What the fuck am I saying? I’m one of them’_. “Speak up, Kid, I can’t hear you.”

“...I found him lying in the snow and I...I-I couldn’t shoot him. I couldn't shoot him ‘cause he looks exactly like me.”

“You're not giving me much to work with so I guess you're in shock or something."  
  
_'Shock doesn't cover even the half of it'_ , Prompto thinks bitterly and then he puts his bitterness in to a glare and directs it at his wrist: the bar-code. "It's because of this stupid thing..." The clone beside him is none-the-wiser, not even asking why they look alike and not like the tin-armored soldiers around of all the questions he's asked so far. Prompto stares at his wrist and hates it more and more—hates how it isn't covered up for him to pretend it isn't there and be Prompto Argentum, not a product of Verstael Besithia. He hastily plucks a log from the fire by it's cool, holds it tight in a fist and draws it near to his bar-code. He feels the heat along his skin, sees the lines of the branding distorting beneath the flames, sees an identical hand grabbing his— "What the—?!" Prompto drops the log in his haste to stand—nearly burns his knee—and aims his gun at 'himself' yet again. "Don't touch me! Stay back!"

Aranea says, "Relax, he didn't hurt you."

"But he was _going to_!"

"No, _you_ were going to. Like that shit was actually going to work. He saw what you were trying to do and stopped you because you're comrades far as he's concerned." Aranea figures it'll bring more turmoil like salt in a wound but it's the probable truth. "Or maybe he was curious."

"He's _dangerous_!"

"Curious and dangerous just like an _infant_. You can't be hard on him, Prompto, he won't learn anything that way—and that's coming from _me_. Take it from someone who's broken a lot of men from over-intimidating them."

"Well you are pretty intimidating, Aranea, but in an awesome way."

"Keep it in your pants, Blondie."

Prompto finally lowers his gun, convinced but not enough to stop watching the clone. He watches him, too,  _curiously_. "...Sorry, my bad."

"Your bad? You...you are bad?" The clone points a finger between them, "But we're...allies."

"We're _not_."

The clone understands the tone to mean something bad and winds up looking like a small, scolded child, his head angled down enough for his chin to meet his collar.

Aranea asks, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Why? Am I not taking finding out I’m one of many clones made to make my best friend miserable well?”

"It's not smart to be so clingy with your gun when you're on edge and there's no real danger."

"Don't fall for his _act_ , he's still a threat!"

"It's not an act, he really doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Just like you didn’t until you came here.”

“But he’s not like me, I’m a _Lucian_!”

“You telling me that or trying to convince yourself?”

"Bo-!" Prompto bites his lip at the last second. What can she possibly understand about any of this? It's not like she's uncovered dark corners to her life that's been a massive lie. If she saw herself in flesh and skin with no reflective glass, no matter how strong she is, she surely wouldn't be able to shrug it off. But she'd still handle it better and knowing that, Prompto can't be mad at her. All he's done is deny, deny, self-degrade, try to hurt himself and deny the truth some more but it's never going to wash away like paint under a running tap; the reality of his existence is right under his nose, branded across his wrist. Prompto drops to a crouch and growls in frustration, "...I'm so fucking done with this."  
  
“You _wish_." Aranea scoffs. "If babysitting him is too troublesome then get rid of him.”

“Yeah, sure, I'll just hand him over to the authorities. Send him back to lab. I'll be just like my dear, old— _no, no_ , fuck! I can't even joke about it yet."

“Someone has _daddy issues_.” Aranea listens to him groan again in discomfort. _Yeah, it'll take a while_ , she thinks on his behalf. She walks away from the cavern walls until she's at its edge where it opens to a lake and snow stretches to the horizon, “I’ve still got work to do. I'd invite you to join me but your needed elsewhere."

"With Noct and the guys. I get it. Rain-check, then. I'll wait for you—"

" _No_ , Prompto." Aranea looks back at him from over her shoulder, "First you need to figure out what it is you want and who it is you are. You probably won't be as lost then." 

Prompto looks up at her, "...And then?"

"And then you go home."

_. . . ._

 

At a stretch, if anything good can be said about the permanent marking put across his wrist before he could even understand true pain, it's how it can unlock places that are closed off to a lot of people. That means he's not so good, that he's not completely Lucian then if he can do this. 'Whatever' he thinks, ducking past the soldiers standing-by, pulling the clone along as they head back in to the crowned city Insomnia.

When he reaches the house he grew up in, it's surprisingly exactly the way he remembers it: modest, welcoming with potted plants in the front and a door mat that actually says 'welcome'. He can stand outside for hours and not notice time passing him by as he drinks in the warmth of the nostalgia. In a similar manor of neglecting the existence of time, meeting and greeting his adopted parents again after leaving to travel with Noctis goes by in a blur; they're hugging him and asking a million and one questions, trying to take his coat and warm his freezing hands.

Prompto is nervous and slightly scared when he gets a moment to start explaining himself, "Err, right...s-so, um, Mom, Dad, do you guys...remember how I used beg you guys for a puppy?"

"Yes. Do _you_ remember your father is allergic?" Mrs Argentum asks in a tone that says she hopes her son hasn't disregarded their decision just because he's of an adult age and is about to bring a canine in to their family.

Mr Argentum _reminds her_ , "I have allergy tablets."

"Okay but dogs shed a lot of fur."

"So it's not about me or my allergies, you just don't want to clean up their fur."

"Oh, I don't want to? So I'm the only one cleaning up after the family dog?"

"That isn't what I meant—we don't even _have_ a dog."

"Okay, let's, uh, _reword_ it differently." Prompto says, seeing their faces and predicting a debate coming. "Mom, remember how I'd help you in the kitchen and you'd always say that you wish there were two of me to get the job done quicker?"

"...You've gotten a girl pregnant."  
  
"What? _No_. Mom, you’re totally off, that's not—"  
  
"We send you off to accompany the prince—excuse me, the _King_ to his wedding but instead you gallivant around with women you don't even _half_ -know like it's a bachelor party!"  
  
"The four of us were driving to get Noct _hitched_ so in a way it _kind of was_ a—" His father clears his throat and shakes his head at him, an obvious symbol that now isn't the time for unfavorable technicality. "Anyway, no one's pregnant."

“What about that nice girl—Cindy, is it? The nice girl from your post-cards."

Imagining being married to Aranea is one thing but impregnating beautiful, gorgeous Cindy Aurum?! Prompto thinks he might explode, or die because the fantasy is a bit too wild—and he's traversed daemon-ridden lands! "Oh my Six—no, Mom. Please listen, okay? Look, I'll show you both, just a jiffy!" He disappears behind the front door, leaves it slightly ajar and whispers encouraging words.

The Argentums exchanged confused looks. If their son hasn’t gotten someone pregnant then who is he trying to persuade to come in? Mrs Argentum still thinks it's a lady-friend, that it's maybe her son's surprise fiance but it isn't. It isn't anything either of them could've ever thought of. Prompto, their only son, comes back inside with...himself? It obviously can't be but it's not a trick on the eyes.

The clone takes one look at them and flings himself behind Prompto, holds on to his shoulders for security and shuts his eyes.

“What in the Six...” Mrs. Argentum’s starts to say but finds herself speechless at the sight of their...two sons?! She puts a hand over her mouth and squints at them hard to see every detail of resemblance.

Mr. Argentum faints backward without warning and lands on the floorboards.

“For goodness sake, Archie…” Mrs. Argentum sighs.

Prompto, staring at his father, says his thought out loud, "...Err, not gonna lie, mom, if one of you was going to faint, I expected it to be you.”

Mrs. Argentum sighs again, a little insulted. “Both of you, kitchen. Now.” She turns and has to step around her husband. “And bring your father. Honestly, Arthur Argentum, you’re as thick-skinned as molasses.”

They gather at the dining table in the kitchen, Prompto and the clone on one side, his parents together on the other. Mrs Argentum has made tea for the four of them but she hasn't said yet if she actually expects the clone to drink any of it. Meanwhile Mr Argentum holds a bag of frozen vegetables against the bruise behind his head; he managed to wake up as he was carried in to a chair at the table.

"I couldn't leave him there to end up like the rest." Prompto explains. "I wanted to do good in the one, single moment I had the opportunity to, so I did."

Mrs Argentum can understand that, and she's proud of her son for being good but still, "What if they come looking for him? Try and take him back by force?"

"Nobody came looking for me..."

"Thankfully—ah!" Mr Argentum hisses as he re-positions the frozen bag. With three pairs of eyes on him, he chooses to leave his throbbing head for a better time and sets the bag down on the table. They're still staring at him. Mr Argentum points and chuckles at the bag, "At least they'll be defrosted."

"Those don't need defrosting, they go straight in to boiling water."

"Do they? Oh." Mr Argentum clears his throat. "...Well at least—"

"Stop."

"Okay."

Prompto chuckles at his parents' familiar act and finally takes a sip of tea from his favourite mug. It's painted pastel-blue and has a big Chocobo-head on the front. When he was about ten, his dad won it for him at a town fair that he had to beg his mom for _ages_ to take him to because it didn't finish until nine on a school night. She caved and he was so ecstatic. The next day, he overslept and didn't go to school. His mother was a bit miffed but she agreed with her husband that the smile he went to sleep with so precious they'd give anything for it.

Mrs Argentum, watching her son drink from that mug, possibly has the same memory in her head right now. She's missed Prompto more than she could've ever said she would before he left because then he might not have ever gone. "You have to go back. To the King, of course."

"I will." Prompto promises. "Everyone's worried about me and I should tell them the truth. They deserve to know everything."

"Take him along in case they don't believe you," says Mr Argentum about the clone.

"Nah, they'll believe me."

"Still...take him. Seeing him is making me feel uneasy." 

"Thanks, dad."

"Oh no, I don't mean it in a bad way! I apologise, it's just strange to see two of you when we only took one of you from the hospital twenty years ago."

“Aw, Dad, don't start crying, you softie." Prompto smiles, and his smile stays on his face as he stares at his cup and thinks of home. This house is his home too in all the ways being with Noct, Ignis and Gladio isn't conventionally. "...I can't run away anymore. And I can't change my past even though it really sucks..." he exaggerates a hopeless shrug, "...I just have to choose where I'm going from now on...and hope they accept me."

“You’re not your past." Mrs Argentum reaches across the table to hold her son's hand. " _Please_ understand that. We raised you and we love you because you’re our son, and you're good. And if the King can’t see every ounce of goodness that you are, he doesn't deserve you!”

Mr Argentum rests a hand over his wife’s, “Penny, Relax. Our son is the King's best friend for a reason and I'm sure it has a lot to do with all the good that's in him."

"Oh, Arthur, I hope so."

Prompto feels so much love in this one moment, it's ridiculous but amazing. "Mom, Dad, thanks for everything. Thanks for taking me in and for loving me. I know what I want now. It took me a while but I want to be at Noct's side. Me and him...I think we need each other." 

Mrs Argentum looks at the clone. He's sat with them entirely silent all this time but he must be thinking things, wondering things. "Hey, sweetie," she softly calls and he looks up, lashes fluttering shyly. "There's a saying that goes ‘better late than never’. I see no impractical reason why you can’t... _why you shouldn’t_ get to live a life of your own too. Just because you were born in to something bad, it doesn't mean that _you_ are _bad_. Make sense?”

He shakes his head, “N-Not...not really.”

Prompto looks his clone dead in the eyes for what feels like, because it likely is, the first time with no self-hatred burning in his chest. "...She's saying it's okay if you want to stick around, be a part of our family. And...I guess now we’ve come this far together...it’s okay with _me_ as well.” He's nearly pushed off his chair by the clone flinging himself at him for a spontaneous hug and it makes his parents laugh together. Does the clone even realize what he's doing? It's all still weird and hasn't really sunk in yet. A couple days ago, Prompto was making jokes and snapping pictures on the way to his best friend's wedding but now...he sort of has a brother. Prompto will tell anyone that _he_ 's the better-looking one though, without a doubt.

"Funnily enough," Mrs Argentum puts down her pink mug after a sip and smiles, "I've always wanted to raise you all over again."

"And I've always wanted someone to pass my chores on to."

"Beg your pardon?"

“N-Nothing, sorry!”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I obviously don’t know how or if another clone would even talk but I imagine, because they haven’t been raised in any sociable environment, their vocabulary would be like an infant’s except maybe they just learn faster? Or he found this clone in a malfunctioning state that left its knowledge of vocabulary in shambles.
> 
> -I never really write in a canon setting but stories that are written to expand on plot points that haven't been fleshed out or have left enough to theorize on greatly intrigue me.


End file.
